


Jazz

by sevsgirl72



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-14
Updated: 2008-07-14
Packaged: 2018-05-29 09:11:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6368737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevsgirl72/pseuds/sevsgirl72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House and Wilson are contrasting melodies in one hell of a jazz riff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jazz

**Author's Note:**

> An old fic, migrating the good stuff written over the years from LJ.
> 
> It was also a part of this challenge that I never finished: Pick a novel, preferably one of more than 100 pages in length, and take the first (full) sentence off of the top of page; 10, 20, 30, 40 & ect. Until you have ten quotes. Take said ten quotes and write fics based on them. You can use the whole quote, or just a section, even a word – all that matters is that you stay faithful to the first sentence part of the challenge. I used The Complete Sherlock Holmes.
> 
> Concert mentioned can be heard here - Thelonious Monk Oslo 1966: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RINHNEMtm_k

_Yet the matter was so delicate that I could not confide it to an agent without putting myself in his power_

_***_

He was in love with his best friend.  
  
Greg House was in love with James Wilson.  
  
House was lying on the floor of his office -record player on, headphones over his ears - reveling in the smooth solid sound of Thelonious Monk playing Oslo in 1966, when his eyes snapped open at the thought.  
  
There was something about the riff that reminded him of Wilson.

Maybe it was the cheerful melody of Charlie Rouse on sax reminding him of how Wilson was compassionate and empathetic with his patients. Combined with the erratic bursts and contrasting notes of Monk on the piano, that House felt was an extension of himself. The sounds twined together perfectly.  
  
No matter how much Wilson annoyed him in his altruism and no matter how much he annoyed Wilson with his misanthropy, they always ended up in comfortable shared moments of understanding or shared reflection on the patio between their offices.  
  
Just like that day in Oslo when Monk sat down on stage together with Rouse and Gales.  
  
Gales bass solo started. A lonely gut wrenching weight settled into his stomach. He could never tell Wilson, or anyone else. He hated not being in control, and if there was one thing Stacy taught him, telling a person something as big as this would only put him under another's power. Like Monk, and any jazz musician, knows: it is never about overshadowing your fellow player, or forcing them into your melody; it’s about mixing melodies and rhythms into one organic sound.  
  
The song ended on Rouse's long held note after Monk's final chord sharply cut away and House wondered if it would prove to be prophetic.


End file.
